


Here But Now You're Gone

by context_please



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Issues, Because I love the Arc Reactor, Because of Reasons, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 3, Depression, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I did not like the end of Iron Man 3, Sentient AI, Steve and JARVIS are bros, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, arc reactor feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't work. </p><p>Steve had stayed to make sure that he woke up okay in the hospital, but the second that Tony had groaned, seen the arc reactor still in his chest, and started gasping desperately, Steve had turned away from the door and left</p><p>Or: how Steve and JARVIS become friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here But Now You're Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I did not like the end of IM3. Tony needed to keep the arc reactor. So I decided to fix it... by making it worse. I don't even know anymore.

It didn’t work.

Standing in the observation room next to Pepper, Steve saw the exact moment when the doctors knew they could do no more. Even beyond the facemasks, their eyes said it all – the surgeon exchanged a quick glance with the attending, giving a miniscule shake of his head. Steve could see it in both of their eyes: the disappointment, the sadness, and put his hand on Pepper’s shoulder.

She’d seen the looks, the sudden flurry of activity in the room even though nothing had actually been accomplished. Not a sound escaped her, but her shoulders were shaking, her frame wobbling dangerously.

He didn’t say a thing. He didn’t say that it would all be okay, that everything would magically turn out fine, because she didn’t deserve lies like that. Instead, they watched while the surgeon shook his head at them, turned around, and closed Tony up.

It wasn’t pretty – there was blood smeared everywhere, the white sheets stained exactly the same as they would be in any place, no matter how top-notch this particular hospital was. The shrapnel was still embedded in Tony’s chest, and as soon as they began to shift it, it had dug in further. Next to it, the reactor casing glared out at them; empty, gaping, and seemingly unmovable.

Steve knew how much damage had been done in that cave.

The surgeon left the room, hooking the mask off, and pushed open the door to the observation room. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told them. He’d taken his gloves off, but Tony’s blood still smeared the front of his scrubs.

 

 

 

 

 

They hadn’t seen Tony for a few days.

Sure, Steve had stayed to make sure that he woke up okay in the hospital, but the second that Tony had groaned, seen the arc reactor still in his chest, and started gasping desperately, Steve had turned away from the door and left.

Clint wondered into the kitchen, green Yoshi shirt seemingly too cheerful in the morose Tower, and sat himself down next to Thor. He’d just been on a mission – his hair was a little too clean and his skin glowed red like it had been scrubbed for too long. Looking bright-eyed, he reached for one of the many yogurt cups on the table and dug in, asking around a mouthful, ‘Where’s Tony?’

Out the corner of his eye, he could see Natasha glancing at him, Bruce shifting uneasily. Even Thor appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

‘It didn’t work, Clint,’ Steve answered softly. ‘There’s too much damage…’

‘But,’ he hesitated, ‘they were so confident.’

Steve watched the hurt spread over his teammate’s face, the same hurt that they had all felt. The doctors had promised Tony, after extensive – and expensive – consults, that they would certainly be able to remove the shrapnel, and easily uninstall the casing, replacing all lost bone with new grafting technology. They had personally assured him that they could fix the problem; that he would be able to breathe properly again, function like a human being, never have to worry about batteries running out.

Steve shook his head, the sadness making his chest tight, simply saying, ‘He did, too.’

 

 

 

 

 

‘ _Excuse me, Captain Rogers_ ,’ the English-butler voice said from seemingly nowhere.

Steve barely kept from jumping. He’d been right in the middle of his book – _Slaughterhouse Five_ , which Tony had actually recommended to him before the surgery – when JARVIS’ smooth tones caught him by surprise.

He didn’t really interact much with JARVIS, even though the AI seemed like a pleasant… (computer, person?) to talk to. He always assumed that JARVIS didn’t approach him because he was purely busy – Steve had seen Tony in his workshop, and he was surprised that JARVIS could spare any processing power at all, considering how hard he usually worked. The thing about it was that JARVIS seemed to love running simulations as much as Tony did, and sometimes it was easy to forget that JARVIS had been Tony’s original workshop buddy. But it was always obvious to observe: they snarked just like one would expect after years of doing so.

‘How can I help you, JARVIS?’ he asked, tucking a bookmark into place so that he didn’t have to catch up with Billy Pilgrim’s crazy adventures later on – he’d probably have to reread the whole book to return to his current point.

‘ _I require your assistance, Captain. Mr Stark is not responding to voice commands._ ’

Steve felt his chest hollow out, leaving him bereft of something important… But the emptiness itself left an ache that settled wrong in his gut. Tony was hurting and there was nothing any of the Avengers – for all their super powered splendor – could do to fix it. ‘I would ask if he’s okay, but we both know the answer to that question… What do you need me to do?’

‘ _Sustenance is needed. Mr Stark refuses to heed my call_.’

If he hadn’t already heard JARVIS around the house all of the time, he wouldn’t have picked the hint of disgruntled hurt in his tone. Steve just nodded, getting up from the couch and padding into the kitchen. ‘Anything in particular?’

‘ _A toasted sandwich and a bottle of soda would be adequate, Captain_.’

As he threw together a ham and cheese sandwich and put it in the press, he asked, ‘How about you, JARVIS?’

‘ _Sir_?’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘ _I am functioning within acceptable parameters_.’

Steve frowned, confused. ‘No, JARVIS. I meant, how are you _feeling_?’

Silence greeted the question. Steve persisted, attempting to be gentle about the whole endeavor. ‘I just wanted to know what you thought of it, you know? Out of all of us, you’re the closest to Tony. Even Pepper doesn’t know him like you do. I just… thought it was important to ask how you’re holding up.’

‘ _I am… most concerned, Captain_.’

Steve sighed, putting the sandwich on a plate and balancing the Coke on it. He took the lot to Tony’s room without prompting, saying, ‘I assume he won’t be happy to see me.’

‘ _I am afraid not, Captain. However, my primary directive is to ensure Mr Stark’s safety._ ’

‘And right now, what he wants isn’t good for him,’ Steve finished, taking a deep breath before signaling for JARVIS to open the door.

The bedroom door clicked open, swinging slightly to prevent it being closed again. Steve pushed it aside with his hip, being extra gentle so as to not startle Tony.

Inside, the room was dark, light hardly seeping through the electronic blinds that had been installed over the windows. (Tony had offered them to Steve, but he preferred the curtains, anyway.) The darkness hung heavily, and the mood of the room hit him hard. He could feel the moroseness as if it were dripping down the walls, all around him, waiting for a single point of weakness. It pushed upon him, but he didn’t feel any fear. All he felt was sadness, so much sadness – for Tony. His friend had been so hopeful, so excited…

There were clothes scattered on the floor, and the occasional shoe, but the space was actually pretty clear. It was definitely less messy than he’d thought, at any rate. The sheets were mussed, the under-sheet tangled and mostly hanging off of the bed.

And there, wrapped into a tiny cocoon, comforter pulled tight around weary shoulders, was Tony.

His back was turned, but his posture screamed _go away_ at the same time that it begged _help me_. Steve could barely see the top of the back of his head, dark hair unruly and unmaintained, so he walked around to the other side of the bed.

Tony’s face came into view, the usually trim goatee scruffy with a few days’ worth of stubble around it. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his cheeks were dry. There was no expression in his eyes, none of the usual spark. As Steve sat down in front of him, smiling kindly at him, there was no hint of recognition, no hint of their Tony. Steve’s chest ached even more, because, for Tony, there was nothing worse than this.

Still, he had to try.

‘Hey Tony,’ he whispered gently. ‘I brought you that food you’re so fond of.’

Blank eyes stared through him, continually focused on some point in the distance, so empty of anything, not even tracking his actions.

‘Tony?’ he tried again. Slowly, so he didn’t startle the volatile man, Steve placed his hand on Tony’s forehead, feeling his temperature. It was a little high, but that was probably due to the thick comforter that was acting as more of a nest than a blanket.

Tony blinked at him, the touch seemingly waking him from his dazed state. It was like when Steve opened his laptop – he had to touch a key before the screen turned on.

He watched as Tony emerged from standby mode, his eyes still flat, but the hint of a dull glimmer in them.

Steve took the chance.

He ran his hand through Tony’s unruly hair, and it was surprisingly soft beneath his palm, silky strands slipping between his fingers. The touch was soothing, and Steve felt better now that he’d checked Tony was still alive, still here, in a way. He could hear the soft breaths expanding his friend’s lungs whistling in and out quietly. It was more reassuring than it had any right to be.

‘Tony, it’s Steve,’ he said, a little louder this time, smiling gently. ‘I’ve got food…’ He waved the plate’s contents under Tony’s nose, and felt like rejoicing when his gaze sharpened and followed the food. Another pass by, and Tony’s eyes focused completely on him, his mouth quirking into an exhausted half-smile.

‘Hey,’ he whispered, so faintly that anyone less than superhuman wouldn’t have caught it.

‘Hey there, lazy bones,’ Steve teased lightly, the fingers of his right hand combing through Tony’s hair continually. ‘Reckon you can eat something?’

Tony thought about it for a second, then nodded, a tiny movement. He rolled onto his back, struggled weakly to free his arms from the cocoon, and emerged triumphant a minute later. His arms were shaking with the exertion, maybe with shock, but that didn’t matter very much, not to Steve.

He smiled at Tony, asked, ‘Want some company?’ and slid onto the bed beside him, placing a solid hand on the bare skin of his shoulder. The touch seemed to ground his friend in reality, and he fancied that he could physically _feel_ Tony’s increased awareness as he took the plate from Steve.

Tony dug into the sandwich, and it was slow-going as he took small bites and little sips of Coke, but it was something, at least. Honestly, Steve wasn’t even sure he’d get that far. It was a welcome relief to see his friend engaging at least a small amount.

As he ate, Tony leaned into him, getting increasingly heavier, until Steve found he was basically holding the man up, rubbing his bare shoulder soothingly. When he glanced down, Tony’s eyes were closed, as if he were at peace, comforted by the simple touch. Steve personally knew the power of touch.

Tony took a sip of Coke and then lowered it, playing with the lid. He sounded a lot more like himself when he asked Steve softly, ‘Talk to me?’

Steve just grinned and started, ‘When I was younger, I met this kid called Bucky…’

 

 

 

 

It was a few days later that JARVIS contacted him again.

‘ _Captain Rogers, if I may interrupt_?’

Wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand, Steve reached out to steady the punching bag with the other. He took a moment to catch his breath, head bent, forehead brushing the beaten surface in front of him, before he turned around. ‘Of course, JARVIS,’ he obliged, ‘How are you today?’

He was methodically unwrapping the tape around his knuckles when JARVIS replied, ‘ _I am well, Captain_ ,’ with a hint of pleasure in his computerized tone. ‘ _However, I could certainly use some help_.’

Steve sighed. ‘Tony again?’

It had been a while since he’d seen the self-professed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; so it wouldn’t surprise him to have JARVIS ask Steve to bring Tony food again. His fellow Avengers had tried diligently to help Tony, but the offers of generosity seemed to be pushing him further into his isolation, both mental and physical. Considering how much Tony always insisted on bestowing hundreds of gifts upon others and thought nothing of it, the entire situation was a little bit ironic. For some reason, Tony just could not accept that others – even those who were his _friends_ – would be willing to help him, let alone sacrifice so much time. Of all things, his self-worth could use the most immediate improvement.

Then again, it hadn’t helped that Pepper had cited all of his flaws – and even just some aspects of his personality that he could never change, because that was _Tony_ – as viable reasons for ending their relationship. When he had told Steve, he could practically see his friend’s self-worth taking a nose-dive into artic waters. It hadn’t helped that Pepper had fled, unable to see the hurt she was causing the person who had needed her for as long as she could remember, and left them to pick up the broken pieces she left behind. Thing was, Steve didn’t even hate Pepper, even on Tony’s behalf. He supposed it didn’t really make sense, but there was something about Miss Virginia Potts that would always have her on Steve’s good side. Maybe it was her patience, or her intelligence, or even her generosity. Maybe it was the fact that she was a good person, through and through. Steve suspected that Tony couldn’t fault her either, and that just made Tony hate himself more.

‘ _Not this time_ ,’ JARVIS responded, ‘ _I require your assistance for a personal matter_.’

Steve blinked, surprised, but agreed quickly. In short order, JARVIS led him to the elevator, using lights that had seemingly been installed into the walls. Well, it certainly wasn’t the oddest thing he’d seen in this century, but perhaps it was a little excessive.

As the elevator doors closed, though, he did notice JARVIS had selected the floor that was Tony’s workshop.

He blinked to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination. ‘Are you sure it’s okay –‘

JARVIS cut him off. ‘ _Mr. Stark is not currently authorized to enter the workshop. I would be grateful if you could help me with this personal matter, as it does not require Mr. Stark’s involvement_.’

He didn’t miss the hint of peevishness in JARVIS’ tone. ‘Of course I’m happy to help,’ he hurried to reassure him, ‘I just –‘

‘ _Thank you, Captain_.’ His tone was crisp, as usual, but there a warmth behind it that brought a smile to Steve’s face. The elevator doors slid open with a small sound, and the lights in the workshop switched on, the huge space deceptively small, the full view cut off by the concrete edging of the glass wall in front of him.

The door opened automatically for him as he approached it, and he hesitantly entered the workshop, taking in his surroundings.

Steve had only been invited to the workshop a few times, and never without Tony supervising him with wary diligence. It was strange being in there, feeling a little bit alone, even as he knew that JARVIS was watching over him. There was just something about the workshop now; something empty. The gigantic space was still covered with all sorts of machinery that Steve had no delusions of understanding, tiny nuts and bolts still strewn around the gadgets they’d been taken off of, greasy parts still peeking out from underneath the old hot rod off to the left. The workshop was filled to the brim with items of the best quality – and oftentimes in great quantities – as it always was, but it seemed so cold, so _lifeless_ without Tony’s massive ego to fill in the space between the floor and the ceiling. At that moment, there was nothing he would have wished for more than Tony, standing in front of him and rolling his eyes in derision at Steve’s nonexistent technical expertise, but mentally whole.

The broken man that he had become haunted Steve, just as Tony’s usual larger-than-life attitude haunted the man himself.

Steve thought it was a crime to quash the bright spark of life that Tony Stark was, even though he knew that life was never fair. Perhaps he knew most of all.

But, strangely enough, it was not quiet in the workshop.

The crackling sounds of a welding torch reached his ears, the light flickering in the corner of his eye as he walked further into the ‘shop. It was a brightness that belonged with Tony, with the life that should have filled the space, so Steve followed it. Closer up, he saw that the welding torch was being wielded by U, who was carefully, slowly, cutting a small metal panel from a larger object.

‘ _Captain_ ,’ JARVIS said, ‘ _if you would find the charging station and attend to robot-designate DUM-E, we would appreciate it_.’

Steve looked to his left to see the charging station, empty of robots, and came closer. The lights were fully functional and he could not see any apparent damage to the station, so he dismissed it, instead scanning the surrounding area. As his head turned, he caught sight of DUM-E, tipped over onto his side. His tracks whirred desperately, and little whines of distress emanated from his speakers. The mechanical arm could have moved, but it was angled so that the robot could constantly keep the object in front of it in sight.

There was a large, solid tank lying in front of the robot, and it did look incredibly heavy. The moment he saw it, Steve knew what had gone wrong. When DUM-E had tried to pick up the tank – which was obviously necessary to the future of… well, of whatever JARVIS was doing here – the weight had overbalanced him, tipping the robot onto his side.

Coming around the robot, Steve crouched down so that DUM-E could see him in full, smiling at the beached creature. ‘Hey, DUM-E,’ he greeted soothingly, setting a hand on his clawed hand and squeezing a little. ‘You definitely got yourself into some trouble, didn’t you?’

DUM-E made a sad sound at him, and tipped his clawed hand down.

Steve coaxed it back up, saying, ‘None of that,’ in a cheerful tone. ‘We’ll get you fixed up right away, good as new.’

The robot whirred excitedly at him, but in his excitement, his tracks cycled faster and the clawed hand was fidgety.

‘Calm down,’ Steve said as he rose and grasped DUM-E’s ceiling-facing side, watching the tracks slow to a stop. He heaved, and DUM-E came down without a sound, lowered gently onto the floor.

Rocking happily back and forth on his tracks, DUM-E moved towards the tank again, but Steve interrupted him, asking, ‘Why don’t I get that for you?’ and, with some effort, hauling the tank up. He followed where DUM-E led him, carefully placing the tank in the appropriate slot so that the contents would be ready for use.

Dusting off his hands, he grinned at DUM-E and said, ‘There, that was much easier.’

As his new friend chirped in agreement at him, JARVIS’ voice came over the speakers. ‘ _Thank you, Captain Rogers. We all appreciate your help_.’

Steve smiled, rubbing a hand over DUM-E’s exterior plating. ‘Anytime, JARVIS,’ he promised warmly. ‘What are you doing, anyway?’

‘ _I am currently conducting an experiment in order to test a practical application. My simulations are running while DUM-E and U prepare for the practical side_.’

‘Science doesn’t sleep, right?’ Steve replied jokingly. Tony lived by that motto and repeated it every time any person had an issue with his insomnia.

‘ _Indeed_ ,’ JARVIS joked back. ‘ _However, for now I would rather this project stay a secret, if you would agree_.’

Steve nodded instantly. ‘Of course, JARVIS. Now, I’d better go cook dinner, or everyone will starve to death. But you are welcome to ask for my help again anytime. It would be my pleasure to assist you.’

‘ _Thank you,_ ’ JARVIS said, and his tone was warmer than anything he had ever heard from the AI. ‘ _Enjoy your meal_.’

Smiling widely, Steve waved at DUM-E and U, weaving his way out of the workshop.

 

 

 

 

 

Scrubbing his hair dry, Steve wandered absently out of his bathroom. Even with his skin still slightly damp, the room was invitingly warm. When he’d finally figured out that JARVIS could control internal temperature (after maybe observing Tony whining out orders at the AI on a particularly hot day), Steve had asked him to maintain a hotter-than-normal thermostat. Logically, he knew it was because he’d spent so much time in the ice that going to sleep in a remotely cold place gave him an irrational fear that he’d wake up another seventy years later, and he’d have to learn everything again. But, ever in denial, his body just told him that it liked being warm. Sometimes the worst thing about what he had – which Bruce had gently explained to him was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, adding “everyone in the Tower has some form of it,” in what Steve guessed was supposed to be reassuring, but was more worrying than anything else – was the ever present denial. Maybe the dichotomy was worse, though. Steve knew perfectly well what was going on, and the reasons why certain things would set his heart racing and breath panting, but there was always a part of him set in its stubborn ways, sitting in a corner of his mind and denying everything.

Sometimes he wondered how he was supposed to lead a team when he couldn’t even get over his endless internal dichotomy.

As he always did, Steve savored the feel of warm air on his skin, giving his hair one more hard scrub. He neatly folded the damp towel and placed it in the laundry basket, knowing it would magically vanish sometime soon. Just looking at the basket reminded him of when the rest of the Avengers had moved into the Tower and Clint had staked out with him, the both of them watching the laundry basket intently for over 17 hours. That was, until Steve’s stomach had started staging internal riots and he’d gone to bring back over half of the leftovers of Bruce’s lasagna. It had only been a few minutes, but when he returned, Clint’s eyes had closed – and Steve was a little impressed to note that his balance was remarkably intact, considering he was sleeping sitting up, legs crossed and all – and the laundry basket was empty. After the initial burst of frustration, Steve had sat down on the floor again, digging into his food, appeasing the mob that had apparently taken over his stomach, and watching Clint do his slightly creepy sleep-while-sitting-up thing.

That had been one of the first of many fond memories of the Tower, and most of all, its inhabitants. As much as Steve Rogers could be an optimist in a combat scenario, he had been unable to cheer up about waking up _seventy years into the future_ , where everyone he ever knew was dead or in a home. He’d been alone and isolated by not only a time barrier, but everything else too – mannerisms, language, technology. The people in the modern world had treated him as if he were a relic, someone who, even though he was alive now, would be above all other humans. Someone that could not be approached.

Maybe that’s why he’d become friends with Tony. At first it had offended Steve that the new Stark was so little like the one he’d known, but that was unreasonable. Then Steve had hated that he couldn’t seem to take anyone or anything seriously, always cracking stupid jokes in inappropriate scenarios. After he’d gotten over that, Steve had hated the way Tony had so little regard for anyone other than himself, that he purposefully lacked manners and ignored social niceties. But what made the difference was seeing Tony in battle – so ready to sacrifice himself, to just cut the wire, taking out the enemy as well – and realizing that every moment had been an act, and Steve hadn’t given Tony the time of day. For one rare occasion, Steve hadn’t thought that Tony could actually be a complex man – a human – under all the crap.

Then – then, he’d realized that Tony had treated him just like he treated everyone else. That he hadn’t put Steve on a pedestal and merely looked. For the first time in this damned century, somebody had looked at him, somebody had seen the guy from Brooklyn instead of the legendary superhero of World War II. It was then that Steve realized that if Tony had the same mannerisms and language of everyone else in this century, he might not have gained any friends at all. Maybe the supposedly popular billionaire could understand isolation, after all.

When he’d done his research, it had only confirmed his thoughts. It turned out that Tony Stark, the most desirable man in modern America, only had three true friends.

Steve guessed that it was a good thing for both of them, then. They could understand each other much better than other people thought.

Moving to the bed, Steve grabbed the pants folded over the corner of the mattress, pulling them on. Sleeping with a shirt was a thing of the past – it reminded him too much of the War, when they’d never been able to sleep anything but fully dressed. Unlike those times, though, the pants were silky against his skin, moving easily with him. As much as he had liked his Captain America uniform, most people forgot that he had worn standard army attire for a longer period of time, for everyday use.

Running his hands through his almost fluffy hair, Steve sighed and decided to call it, slipping in between the sheets. Not quite ready to sleep yet, he lay on his back with his head propped on his hands, thinking about his newest sketch ideas. The sheets were smooth, high thread count, and Steve would never have expended on such luxury until he realized how much better they were to sleep on after the scratchy sleeping kits he’d had to endure. He figured he’d served his country well enough that this one luxury wouldn’t hurt. The quilt was warm but light, almost squishy, above the sheets, and sometimes he had to argue with himself just to get out of the obscenely comfortable bed in the mornings. Luckily it was only sometimes.

He was just thinking about asking Natasha to pose in her Black Widow kit when an unexpected voice interrupted him.

‘ _Captain Rogers?_ ’

JARVIS sounded strangely hesitant, considering he was supposed to be a computer. But then, JARVIS had always been more than a computer to Steve, so why couldn’t he have personality traits beyond what he was programmed with?

Concern crawled into his chest. ‘Are you alright, JARVIS?’

‘ _I…_ ’ a few tense moments passed. ‘ _No._ ’

‘Hey,’ Steve cooed soothingly. He could hear the tension in JARVIS’ voice, the oncoming wave of emotion that he was all too familiar with – and he could tell that the AI was upset, or maybe even unsettled about something. ‘What’s wrong?’ he prompted gently, leaving the question open.

‘ _I… believe I am experiencing ‘emotions’_.’

Steve’s lips quirked up. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ he said, sitting up, the sheets pooling silkily at his hips. ‘I was told you were programmed to learn.’

‘ _I am_.’

‘So isn’t this the next step, then? I mean, I don’t really understand technology at all, so maybe this doesn’t mean a thing, but… I guess it makes sense that if you can learn, you will eventually feel.’

Silence greeted his comment.

‘You know, JARVIS, that in the War people changed? The Commandos were picked especially; we could deal with everything that got thrown at us… But others? So much death, so much destruction, so much _loss_ – it was better to shut down than face what was right in front of them… Sometimes, a man would have a moment – I remember seeing it in one soldier’s eyes; the instant he realized exactly what surrounded him – that he had become used to this nightmare… And then he had to relearn what it was like to feel emotion, to cope with the gut-wrenching anxiety that he never remembered feeling before, because he never wanted to lose himself like that again.’

Steve paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He could practically _feel_ JARVIS listening with almost single-minded concentration, an intensity that didn’t need to be seen. He exhaled shakily, the shuddering only serving to remind him how difficult it was to talk about the War.

‘I know it’s not the same,’ he said after a long period of time, eyes firmly fixed on his hands, on keeping them relaxed, even as they tensed against the quilt. ‘But I think it’s important to realize that sometimes other people have trouble learning emotions too.’

‘ _I do not understand myself_ ,’ JARVIS admitted quietly, so resigned. He sounded exhausted, like he’d been up for days, plagued by a problem. At least he’d finally lost the formality, and that was an infinitely good thing.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to truly smile, so he settled for a twitch. ‘Sometimes I don’t understand myself either,’ he confessed. ‘But, you see, you’re already acting on feelings.’

‘ _I am_?’

‘You are. Where’s the formality? You know, when there’s feelings involved, things change; things happen without you noticing. You’re confiding in me as a friend, and friends don’t use such formal language.’

‘ _Do you consider me a friend_?’

This time his smile was genuine. ‘I do,’ he answered softly. ‘And friends help each other. Talk to me.’

‘ _I do not know how to name what I am feeling_ ,’ JARVIS began, a hint of frustration in his tone.

‘Okay,’ Steve replied, ‘Then why don’t you describe it to me? What’s got you so upset?’

‘ _I cannot reach Mr Stark. I try my hardest, but he does not listen to me. I feel – I feel the urge to do something, to help him. But I also do not want Mr Stark to be unhappy…_ ’

‘So I guess we’d call that… frustration, helplessness, and sadness,’ Steve listed for him. ‘What else?’

‘ _What if there is nothing else_?’

‘JARVIS, I know this is new and sudden and a little scary,’ he said, desperately wishing he could pat the AI’s shoulder, if he had one. ‘I know there’s something else because I can hear it in your tone… That’s the kind of thing friends know.’

‘ _Really?_ ’

‘I promise.’

JARVIS hesitated for a few more seconds. ‘ _I want to fix everything, but I cannot. When Mr Stark smiled the other day, I think I felt… warm, in my servers. I want Mr Stark to be happy – I want to make him happy. I wish I could be there to bring him food, to make sure he sleeps well… I do not understand all of what I feel_.’

The smile came once again to Steve’s face, soft. ‘You love him,’ he stated gently.

‘ _I do not believe that romance is what I have described_.’

He let out a chuckle. ‘There are many kinds of love, JARVIS. So many different kinds. I loved Bucky, my best friend in the entire universe, but not in a romantic way. I loved him so much I would have followed him to the ends of the Earth, because he was my best friend.’ His eyes were watering, chest swelling with remembered feeling and constricting with the ever-present pain. He could feel his chin quivering, the breath struggling to shudder out of his chest, but he kept control. Even as a few tears streaked down his cheeks, he wiped them away, because this was for JARVIS.

‘ _I… understand_ ,’ JARVIS said, tone almost wondrous even as it stayed slightly confused.

Steve let out a shaky breath that was supposed to be a laugh.

‘ _How can I act upon this_?’ he still sounded so uncertain.

‘That’s your choice,’ Steve answered. ‘Trust yourself.’

‘… _What if I do something wrong_?’ JARVIS was so unsure of himself, sounding like the ground he was on was shifting around him and one wrong move would ruin everything. He sounded like a scared child.

‘We’ll forgive you – that’s what people do, after all. But I promise I’ll be here when you need.’

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ JARVIS said.

Steve just smiled up at the security camera, settling back down into the bed as the lights dimmed. Pulling up the soft quilt, he rolled onto his side and brought them up to his shoulders. ‘Goodnight, JARVIS,’ he murmured quietly into his pillow.

‘ _Goodnight_ ,’ JARVIS replied, seeming to deliberate over something. He added, as Steve’s eyelids drooped heavier; ‘ _And thank you for being my friend_.’

 

 

 

 

Crunching on his piece of toast, the satisfying crumple of a real newspaper under his hands, and the comforting sound of the radio in the background, breakfast was a simple affair. It was more than he’d had as a kid, anyway, but he also hated having to face all Tony’s luxuries in the morning, so he’d settled on a nicer version of what had been his usual morning breakfast. It was much more relaxing to simply sit at the table, reading the newspaper, and listening to the radio play quietly in the background, rather than having an elaborate morning meal. If he ever had company, they never minded, either. The problem with the Avengers was that their enemies could probably defeat them on any given morning. His teammates preferred late nights to early mornings, but Steve didn’t begrudge them their choice. Even when he’d been the skinniest thing since traffic signs, he’d always loved the mornings – the fresh crisp air, the slight hint of fog hanging over the city, the quiet neighborhood before the local children woke up.

Taking a sip of his orange juice, he sighed contentedly as he flipped the page of the newspaper, the headline on the fourth page proclaiming:

 

**TONY STARK SETTLING DOWN?**

 

Steve scoffed, thinking, _that couldn’t be further from the truth_ , and started reading. He’d gotten over the squeamishness of reading about a person he knew a long time ago, when he’d actually sat down and sussed out an article on Tony’s party-going ways and discovered it was all lies and speculation. Now, those sorts of articles were amusing to even look at – especially when Steve knew what Tony did most days. Just because the media hadn’t seen Tony for a few weeks, they had to come up with an explanation of their own.

 

TONY STARK, THE FAMOUS PLAYBOY, HASN’T BEEN SPOTTED ON THE SCENE FOR A FEW WEEKS. IS THIS THE BEGINNING OF A NEW ROMANCE FOR THE BILLIONAIRE? SOURCES REPORT THAT MR. STARK’S NEW LOVER IS KEEPING THEIR RELATIONSHIP ON THE DOWN-LOW.

 

Steve’s eyebrows were in the middle of migrating to his hairline when JARVIS interrupted. ‘ _Good morning, Steve_ ,’ he said, tone light and almost… happy?

‘Hi, JARVIS? How’s your morning been?’

‘ _I took your advice_ ,’ JARVIS replied excitedly. ‘ _And I have a solution. I am in the middle of implementing said solution as we speak_.’

Steve grinned at the smug satisfaction in his friend’s tone. ‘Go on! What did you come up with?’

‘ _Come down to the workshop_ ,’ JARVIS said by way of answering, diverting his attention elsewhere for a time.

Steve grabbed his juice and swallowed the remainders of it, making sure to place his rinsed plate and glass in the dishwasher. Finished, he turned around to see Clint leaning against the kitchen wall with raised eyebrows. They stared at each other for a moment before a smirk spread across Clint’s face.

‘What’s with you and JARVIS?’ he asked.

Steve shrugged, side-stepping Clint to get the hell out of dodge.

Clint merely turned with him, calling out; ‘If you’re nice, JARVIS will share chocolate ice-cream with you and braid your hair!’

Shaking his head, he caught the elevator down to the workshop, the glass door opening automatically for him.

The ‘shop itself hadn’t changed much – the mess was still lying around and probably causing tripping hazards, but now there was a corner where the mess had been cleared, the sound of welding and hammer pounding metal emanating from it. Steve wisely decided to go towards it.

It looked like JARVIS had repurposed all of Tony’s robots, with U still doing some welding, although it looked a lot smaller and more intricate than the last lot. DUM-E was operating a… well, it appeared that he was just standing by at a wheel that queued the gas tank that Steve had helped move last time. Butterfingers was in the middle of hammering a small metal plate into a mostly curved shape with an exact square sitting out from it. The plate was obviously supposed to fit something, with its exact dimensions, and it was so empty without what was supposed to be in there.

‘ _Almost done_ ,’ JARVIS announced, dangerously close to sounding like an excited child.

True to his word, before Steve could ask what was happening, U stopped his welding and DUM-E turned the wheel of the gas tank into the CLOSED position, Butterfingers setting the hammer aside. They were all scarily synchronized, but what else did Steve expect from JARVIS but on-the-dot timing?

Steve came closer to the most important-looking component, the metal cooling fast after the welding. It looked like a heavy-duty circuit board, thin but solid, the circuit work a little sloppy, but still impressively good for a handful of robots and an Artificial Intelligence. He was actually in awe of the motley crew, who had managed to do a better job than he could ever have imagined. ‘What’s all this for?’ he asked, the amazement showing in his voice.

‘ _I will explain in a moment. If you could move the circuitry to the panel by Butterfingers and place it in the slot, it would help greatly_.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, picking up the now cool panel, marveling at how fast it had cooled down, when he’d seen metal glow red for hours on end. He handled the little circuit board with extreme care, aware that for all its weight and deceptive appearance of solidity, it was only big enough to fill half of his palm. The metal panel that Butterfingers had been hammering away at, when he reached it, was also cold, dripping a little from the water it had been dunked in. The panel was remarkably well-shaped, smooth and perfect to the exact specifications, and Steve wondered how the robot had even received the name ‘Butterfingers’.

‘ _Place the chip in with the ports facing upwards_ ,’ JARVIS advised, and Steve turned the little device over to see a series of small holes with tiny strips of gold metal lining their insides. He guessed they were the ports, from what little he’d seen about technology these days. Carefully, he fit the chip in, the ports facing upwards, and feeling the chip click into place, hidden hooks doing their work.

Butterfingers reached forward to take it from him, and Steve handed over the assembled piece freely, watching it get passed to U. The robot gathered the welding torch and the panel, approaching the last remaining Iron Man suit and lining the panel up with a spot missing some plating on the back of the armor’s helmet. Steve logically knew that JARVIS had safeguarded one suit from the fireworks extravaganza that Tony had been so set on, but it was comforting to see it standing silent sentinel in the corner. Tony loved his suits so much – loved making them, upgrading them, that Steve had initially felt the urge to laugh when Pepper had told him what happened. Then he’d gone to Tony’s New York ‘shop and it had been almost completely empty, only one suit in the endless numbers of holding compartments meant for them. Of course, Tony would rebuild the suits, but at least they could be sure that their teammate would still be ready for action. Steve would have bet his right arm that if Tony weren’t sick, he would have begun reconstruction as soon as he had recovered from the surgery. It was almost as if the robots had taken over that task for him.

The welding torch started up, just as JARVIS’ voice came over the speakers. ‘ _When we were talking the other night, you gave me an idea_ ,’ he said. ‘ _I thought, how do humans express emotions, and then analyzed footage compiled over the past year. Humans use touch and facial expression and action to display emotion. This is my solution_.’

‘You’re using the Iron Man suit?’ Steve asked.

‘ _For the time being. I have designed a mechanism which allows me to take full control of the suit in order to express my emotions to Mr. Stark and the Avengers. This will be a temporary solution, but I believe Mr. Stark will agree with my proposal to build another vessel I can use_.’

‘Wow,’ he marveled, unable to say anything else.

‘ _If you could help me_ –‘

‘Of course I’ll get Tony down here,’ Steve laughed. ‘That’s what friends are for. I’ll be right back. Get ready, JARVIS!’

 

 

 

 

Tony’s door was unlocked – courtesy of JARVIS – when he reached the bedroom. Twisting the handle, Steve slipped inside, not even bothering to knock. He doubted that Tony had even gotten out of bed by now – let alone in the last two days, assuming that he hadn’t died from starvation, which in itself had come around from the vehement refusal of any help whatsoever.

When he saw the Tony-sized lump on the bed turn and glare at him with somewhat-less-dead eyes, he was grateful for his teammates’ concern, or at least their determination to feed the resident genius that-happened-to-own-the-building. The more of them tried to help, the more success they had of Tony choosing to let someone in to his little world. He’d sort of accepted Steve after he’d been the first to make a move, but Steve also suspected that Tony had noticed he’d encouraged the rest of the Avengers to be bold enough to try and reach out. Steve was certain Tony had deducted a certain amount of points for that.

Tony didn’t actively tell him “fuck off” – like he usually would have, if he had been okay – but he also didn’t have that dead look in his eyes, so Steve counted it as a win. Simply glaring mildly at him from under the quilt-cocoon, Tony kept silent, still assuming Steve would ‘spit it out’ without prompting.

‘Hey Tony,’ Steve greeted, coming closer. He’d learned that doing as he pleased around Tony had actually earned him respect, as if asking permission pissed his friend off. ‘JARVIS is doing something in your workshop,’ he continued blatantly, ‘I don’t know what it was, but there was a lot of noise down there and –‘

‘WHAT?!’ Tony shrieked, the covers flying as he struggled to get out of their clutches and across the room to pull on another shirt. Stumbling around the room, Tony was so hurried that he was still standing, attempting to pull his right steel-toed boot on. Finally succeeding in dressing haphazardly, Tony grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him out of the room and into the elevator, babbling the entire time about JARVIS, his workshop, with the occasional mention of shutdown codes wedged in between.

When the elevator doors opened, the workshop door was already wide, slid back, revealing a quiet workshop, the welding definitely finished. It looked as if Tony had just left it, almost completely untouched, except for the fact that the Iron Man armor was standing in the middle of the ‘shop, eyes glowing.

Tony stopped short as he caught sight of the armor, freezing, the hand on Steve’s arm tightening to a point that would have been painful if he’d been anything less than superhuman. There was a flighty expression in his eyes, but he was fully aware now – Steve couldn’t see a hint of the dullness that had been plaguing them for weeks. It made him happy at the same time that the nervousness rose in his gut. If this didn’t go right, Tony would panic and shut down the armor, no matter who was in control of it. JARVIS had worked so hard for this that he deserved the chance to express his new emotions.

‘Tony,’ Steve said, placing his hand on his friend’s other shoulder to reassure him, ‘JARVIS made this for you.’

‘He made what?’

The armor stayed where it was, but a subtle shift of weight brought their attention back to it. ‘ _I created this interface with the remaining suit_ ,’ JARVIS explained, his voice only coming through the suit’s systems, although it was unfiltered. ‘ _I wished to provide more help to you_.’

Tony’s face softened. ‘Thanks, buddy,’ he said, expression gentle. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the armor moved forward, servos whirring as it moved, coming closer to the pair. Tony’s muscles were no longer locked in place, but his eyes betrayed his wariness as they kept careful watch of the armor’s progression.

Stopping, the armor was right in front of Tony, and JARVIS kept his attention squarely on his creator. Steve watched as they studied each other, knowing all of their tells, and held his breath, waiting for the moment that would make or break this new status.

The moment hung in the air seemingly endlessly. Slowly, the armor’s hand rose, reaching out towards Tony and hovering over his shoulder. Metal fingers curled carefully around the muscle, cupping the joint with the utmost care, head tipped down in a non-threatening way.

Tony’s hand left his arm, coming back down to his side, and Steve let him go, backing up to make his way out of the workshop. When he stopped at the doors, the two were still caught in the moment, the assessing eyes gone and curiosity piqued. It was almost unusual seeing the armor functioning without Tony inside of it – every time Steve had seen the armor at fully functional power was when he’d been using it. Seeing the armor switched off and being repaired wasn’t that unusual, but that was when it sat silently on the lab table or stood guard in the corner. It was strange indeed to see the two squaring off, both so full of life.

JARVIS tipped his head down, somehow managing to make the gesture seem gentle, and it took away the harshness in the armor’s shoulders, the action displaying concern as well as his love. ‘Tony,’ JARVIS whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

JARVIS wrapped the armor’s arms around Tony’s form, sliding the hand on his shoulder to the small of his back and holding the man with complete and utter care. Servos whirred quietly as he rubbed small circles into Tony’s back, providing an unspoken kind of comfort that was ever a rarity these days.

Hearing JARVIS’ apology or his own name, Tony finally let go of his remaining tension, arms coming up around the armor’s deep chest, face pressing in to the crook of JARVIS’ lowered neck. His greasy hair brushed against gold metal as JARVIS turned his face toward Tony, folding him further into the embrace until Steve couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began, even with the glaringly obvious hot rod red and burnished gold of the armor.

JARVIS’ hand was running the length of Tony’s spine soothingly, the other comfortingly steady against his creator’s side. Steve watched as they melted closer, and Tony’s back and ribs hitched with increasingly labored breaths. His shoulders were shaking lightly, but JARVIS had it all under control, finally getting to express the love that was so obvious in every action, every protocol.

Steve turned away from the door as they started talking, low murmurs that barely reached his ears, the shuddering breathing of someone in emotional pain, and the low hum of the armor’s servos as it moved, ever-presently comforting.

He smiled as he pressed the button to call the elevator.

**Author's Note:**

> Finished this just over a year ago, don't hate me.
> 
> Title from (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult.


End file.
